


Opera Cakes and Omelets

by mu5icliz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chef Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, M/M, lots of talk about spies in a restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mu5icliz/pseuds/mu5icliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is recently invalided and lands a job in a restaurant as a sous chef. He struggles to understand the staff and the recipes but most of all, his boss Sherlock Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opera Cakes and Omelets

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Tvshoweater](http://tvshoweater.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as part of [Exchangelock.](http://exchangelock.tumblr.com/)  
> The prompt was pretty wide open but then I saw [this](http://tvshoweater.tumblr.com/post/84037054825/tvshoweater-my-entry-for-this-months-lets) on Tvshoweater's blog and knew I needed to write the fic for it.  
> This is also partly inspired by [my girlfriend Lori](http://teajava.tumblr.com/).

“This is an old friend of mine, John Watson,” said Mike.

The chef looked John over and asked, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before answering, “Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?”

The chef ignored him and instead turned to Mike and sneered, “An army doctor recently invalided from Afghanistan with a psychosomatic limp is the best you could do?”

John’s mouth fell open with a “wha-how?” while Mike quickly responded with “You’ve scared off most the chefs in London. We’re staring at the bottom of the barrel here – No offense, John.”

Before John could respond by saying that he also wouldn’t have chosen himself for this position, the chef spoke over him, “I asked you to find me a _proper_ sous chef. I _need_ a sous chef.”

“Well until you start making friends, John’s the best we’re going to get,” replied Mike.

John stood still, gripping his cane and looking between the chef and his old friend, waiting for someone to say something. The chef ceased staring Mike down and instead turned to look at John. The room seemed to get colder from the stare of those icy blue eyes.

“Do you have any experience in a restaurant kitchen?” asked the chef.

“No but I did spend some time in an army kitchen and I can take orders.”

“Well I don’t need a waiter, I need a sous chef. Can you take my orders and execute?”

“Depends on what it is I suppose.”

The chef paused, contemplating if having an under experienced sous chef would be a risk worth having. “Indeed it is.” He turned to Mike and said, “Fine. I’ll take him.”

For the second time that day, John was shocked by the chef’s actions. He had been expecting a rejection and instead had been given a job. It seemed he wouldn’t be bored around here.

“Arrive here at noon tomorrow, ready to familiarize yourself. Our reservation book is full which means we need a well-executed dinner service. The last sous chef’s uniform is hanging on that rack. The accompanying apron is still on the floor from when he threw it. Wash it and have it ready to wear tomorrow. Also, lose the cane.” With that, the chef turned to storm into the office attached to the kitchen.

“Wait,” called John, “is that all?”

The chef froze and confusedly turned to look at John. “Have I missed something?”

“You barely know my name and you’re already inviting me to work in your kitchen? What if I was…I don’t know…a waiter from a rival restaurant with no cooking skill, looking to steal your recipes?”

The chef smirked, “It’s already painfully obvious that you don’t have the cooking talent. Your hands are callused but not with the burns of a frying pan but from guns. If you have absolutely no cooking skill, you shouldn’t show up tomorrow, spy or not. You won’t last in my kitchen with no skill. As for a spy?” The chef gave a small chuckle, “Oh please. Your haircut, your tan, and your posture all say military experience, not waitressing. There will be spies in the kitchen though. I will _always_ be able to identify them before they get their hands on anything. Your job can be to bodily throw them out the door, call the police, shoot them, I don’t care. Once they’re out of my kitchen they are no longer my concern. That was Lestrade’s job but he just became chef de partie so the one track idiot won’t be able to flambé and guard at the same time.”

The chef began to retreat to his office again. When he was just about to close the door, he turned to John and said, “The name’s chef Sherlock Holmes. Welcome to the Holmes restaurant,” and closed the door behind him.

\-----------------------

The next day, John arrived early, dressed and ready to learn. His leg twinged with the reminder that he did not have his cane with him, but he had promised to follow orders and you couldn’t very well run a kitchen with a cane in hand.

John knew that Sherlock was in the adjoining office but he decided to explore the kitchen on his own for a bit.

He was in the middle of admiring the walk in pantry when a voice behind him called out, “Oi. Who are you? What are you doing?”

John turned to see a man with grey hair and white uniform with his hands on his hips, staring him down. _No one is friendly here, are they_ , thought John. Fortunately this man did not have the same icy presence as the chef.

Before John could answer, a dark skinned woman with her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail appeared next to him. “Not another one,” she groaned.

“You idiots,” shouted Sherlock, drawing the attention back into the main part of the kitchen. He pointed his finger at John’s accusers and said, “Stick to your day jobs. A job in Scotland Yard wouldn’t suit you.” Sherlock gathered the attention of the entire staff as they lined up alongside the chopping block, some still tying on their aprons. “This is the new sous chef, not a spy,” he said.

John wondered just what this place could be hiding seeing as everyone was constantly on edge about spies.

\-----------------------

Sherlock showed John around the kitchen and introduced him to the whole staff. It was later as the dinner service was about to begin that he got a chance to ask why there was so much fear with spies.

“Oh that. We get a lot of spies from the rival restaurant. Sorry again for thinking you were one of them,” Lestrade said as he blushed a bit at the memory.

“Which rival restaurant?”

“The Three Bullets on Westwood Avenue. Their head chef has it in for the chef and is constantly sending spies. I don’t even think he does it for the food anymore. He probably just likes watching the chef dance around looking for spies.”

“Are you talking about chef Moriarty?” asked Molly, the head waitress, with a wide smile on her face.

“Yeah Molls. Just telling the chef here what an arsehole that guy is,” said Lestrade, chopping the last of his vegetables.

“He’s not that bad,” said Molly.

“Oh please,” said Donovan, “You just have a crush on the guy.”

Molly’s cheeks went a deeper shade of pink and John just smiled at her.

\-----------------------

“Well the week hasn’t been a complete disaster,” praised Sherlock.

John was slightly shocked by the compliment. It was as close to a compliment as he was going to receive.

“Now,” said Sherlock, “we will work on the Opera Cake.”

It was past closing time and Sherlock and John were the only ones left in the restaurant. John already knew that the chef hardly ever left and if he was honest to himself, he could really use some sleep. John decided to put aside his fatigue in favor of having an excuse to be around the chef some more. All week, during the dinner service, there was so much chaos that he had not had a chance to connect with his new boss.

“First, we need to prepare the mise-en-place,” came the order from the chef.

John went wide-eyed and panicky. He was unsure if he had missed any other instructions while thinking about his boss.

Luckily, the chef helped him set up the long list of ingredients.

Once everything was in its bowls, the instructions began and with it came the daydreams. John wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep that was causing his mind to wander but all he knew was that his brain had chosen the wrong time to remind him of Sherlock’s ice blue eyes and dark curly hair.

“Don’t burn the ganache. In this world, there are few things worse than burnt chocolate.” John couldn’t help but notice the way Sherlock’s eyes flashed as he watched the chocolate melt. _Pay attention_ , he reminded himself. He looked into the saucepan containing the ganache and then regretted it since the color was similar to Sherlock’s hair.

“It’s burnt,” fumed Sherlock.

John’s face turned a shade of pink as he looked down at the remains of the ganache.

“Redo it,” ordered Sherlock as he turned away and crossed to the other side of the kitchen to check the stock.

John trashed the burnt ganache and got to work on his second attempt. He hoped it would be better without the chef watching him but instead he found himself watching him.

In the end, the cake did not turn out as perfect as it was supposed to. All the right angles and neat layers were missing. Regardless, John tentatively called the chef over to taste it.

Sherlock cut into it and was displeased by the messiness of the layers. He still tasted it and even got a bit of the glaze on his finger, which John enjoyed watching him lick off.

“The cake is not totally burnt…” concluded Sherlock, “C'est déjà ça.”

“Sorry for the last time chef,” replied John.

“It’s nowhere near the type of cake Mrs Hudson is able to make but it’s passable. You can take it. Get some sleep and be ready to start again on Tuesday.”

And with that John was dismissed for his day off.

\-----------------------

Tuesday afternoon, after a long day off, the kitchen was busier than they had seen in a long time. Everyone was on edge.  Mrs Hudson was triple checking her pastries, John had to stop Donovan from over salting her sauces, and Anderson couldn’t evenly cut the vegetables to save his life.

“This is how things usually are when there’s a critic in the restaurant,” Lestrade said to John in passing. John tried to relax with that nugget of information but stirring stew had just become more difficult.

It was towards the end of the dinner service that John noticed her. She had dark brown hair pulled into an elegant bun, red lipstick, and a white form fitting dress. She was leaning against the wall dividing the kitchen from the dining area and staring at all the food as it exited. John looked around for the chef, hoping that he too had spotted the spy but the chef was still barking orders at Anderson and had not noticed so he made up his mind.

John pulled his sleeves up to expose his forearms and approached the woman with a commanding face. “May I help you?” he asked.

The woman spared him a look over then quickly resumed looking at the kitchen. “I see Sherlock’s found himself a new temp,” she smirked.

She already knew something about him and that already was too much information for John’s taste. “That’s it,” he said as he grabbed her by the arm, intending to push her out the back door of the kitchen.

“Irene,” came a smooth and calm voice.

“Sherlock,” smiled the woman looking in the chef’s direction. “I was just meeting your new temp.”

John looked up at the chef and released the woman’s arm but the chef was not even looking at him.

“Yes, John here knows exactly what to do when someone is unwelcome back here,” said Sherlock.

Irene gave an airy laugh and put her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh Sherlock, I’ve seen the ins and outs of your kitchen already. Being welcome here is no longer my priority.” She dropped her gaze to Sherlock’s lapel, which simply read “Holmes”, and stroked it with her hand. “Now I’m just trying to get you to have dinner with me,” she seductively said.

Sherlock exasperatedly sighed and looked away, “shouldn’t you be writing a review about the meal you’ve just eaten?” John mentally kicked himself. _Not a spy_.

“You already know your dinner gets five stars,” she said. “If _you_ get five stars, that remains to be seen.” John once again felt the urge to bodily throw her out of the kitchen door again.

“I don’t care much about other people’s reviews. If I approve, then that’s all that matters to me. Good night Ms Adler,” Sherlock said before turning around to care for the kitchen staff.

John steeled his face and simply held the ‘out’ door open for Irene. She sauntered over to the door and stopped in front of John. She looked at him once again before winking and disappearing into the dining room.

After the run in with the flirtatious food critic, the kitchen ran normally and slowly dwindled down to just washing dishes.

“Hey John,” called Lestrade, “want to join us for a pint?”

John looked up from the menu he was reviewing to see half the kitchen staff slipping on their coats and heading out the door. “That’s alright. I have this to do and I still need to eat my own dinner. Some other time?”

“Sure mate,” agreed Lestrade. “See ya.”

After they were all gone, John returned to his paperwork. It was then that he felt Sherlock come over to the other side of the counter. He looked up and smiled but was only met with the furrowed brow of the chef. He then just looked down at his papers again but after a moment, turned his gaze up again and was met with the same frustrated look.

“Dinner?” asked John. It was the only thing he could think of that would hope to break the silence.

“Starving,” replied the chef.

John nodded then went into the refrigerator to see what he could come up with. There were plenty of eggs and a few vegetables that would go bad if they weren’t used soon. He settled on an omelet and grabbed the necessary ingredients.

He piled everything on the counter and found the chef still staring at him.

“Is something wrong?” John asked.

“No, nothing,” stammered Sherlock and decided to occupy himself with paperwork of his own.

John beat the eggs, and then diced the tomatoes, onions, and bell peppers. Once the oil in the sauté pan was warm, he added the vegetables, one by one, and sautéed. After a few minutes, everything was soft so he removed it and put it in a separate dish. Next, he added oil again then followed it with the egg mixture. The sautéed vegetables went on top and once it set, it was flipped. Once he had flipped it and it was ready to be removed, John looked up to see Sherlock watching his every move once again.

When he looked down at the omelet, John was a bit embarrassed. It sat on a simple plate with just a sprinkle of cheese but it was not the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Certainly Sherlock had seen food that was much more satisfying. Certainly had tasted better food than this. John still put it in front of the chef. Although it wasn’t beautiful, it was food and he had made it with the hopes of nourishing the chef he had come to grow very fond of.

Sherlock picked up the fork and took a bite. John didn’t wait for a confirmation or rejection. He began making his own omelet instead but was pleased to see that out of the corner of his eye, the chef had taken more than just one bite. Once the second omelet was done, John placed it across the counter from Sherlock and began to eat. The chef was over halfway done and John was pleased.

“You know,” said Sherlock, breaking the silence, “when you asked me to dinner, I thought you meant at another restaurant eating lamb, sipping wine, or having conversation over chinese takeaway.”

 _Oh_ , thought John as he mentally kicked himself again, with a bite of omelet halfway to his mouth.

“But this,” Sherlock looked down at his almost empty plate, “this I did not expect.”

“Sorry,” apologized John, “I know it’s not much and it probably doesn’t taste as good as lamb and wine.”

“That’s not what I meant. You…You’re surprising John Watson.” Sherlock put his fork down and looked at John wholeheartedly, “No one has ever cooked for me.”

John cocked his head confusedly. “Really?”

“Well Mrs Hudson sometimes sends me food but it’s usually leftovers and everyone else is just too intimidated to cook me anything out of fear of criticism, which is a valid point. No one ever really gets the recipe right. But you, you made me an actual meal that was just for me.”

John blushed and shyly said, “It’s just an omelet. Not even a very good one.”

“Still. It’s one of the best omelets I’ve had.” Sherlock sighed and slowly made his way around the counter to John. “I tried removing the sentiment but I’m not capable. The feelings remain and I know how you feel.”

Sherlock stopped right in front of John, who had followed the man’s gaze and was now facing him.

John could see that the man in front of him was terrified. Sherlock’s body was tense and his eyes were wide. Sentiment seemed to be a foreign concept for the man.

It was no matter to John. He simply looked up Sherlock’s body, following the two columns of buttons up the man’s chest, up to the ice blue eyes framed by perfect sharp cheekbones. He finally settled his gaze on the man’s perfect rosy lips.

John licked his own lips before wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s torso and pulling him closer.

Their lips met and Sherlock slowly dissolved into John’s body. Sherlock’s eyes shut as he felt the softness of John’s lips. He was leaning so heavily that he planted his hands on the counter to get closer to John’s body.

The kiss was slow and hesitant at first but it quickly became hungry. Sherlock had gotten a taste of John and soon he wanted more. John was ready and willing to give it to him. His hands slid up Sherlock’s back which had the chef moaning beneath his hands. John took the opportunity to take Sherlock’s bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it.

Once John let go, their lips slid together again and the two men slowly pulled their mouths apart. Their foreheads rested together as they panted in unison.

“Next time,” panted John, “I’ll cook you lamb and wine.”

Sherlock smiled broadly and began kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> the Opera cake recipe mentioned in this fic is based on [this](http://frenchfood.about.com/od/desserts/r/Opera-Cake-Recipe.htm)  
> [You can follow me on tumblr](http://mu5icliz.tumblr.com/)


End file.
